On Broken Wings
by dachy
Summary: He loved her and would do anything for her. He just didn't plan on losing her in the process. CLOUD-x-Aerith. A DARK STORY! Mythology AU. Loosely based on Hades and Persephone.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Ramblings: I love FF7. I love mythology. Why not combine these two (badly?) Please review!_

Prologue

Thick, white clouds were hanging low around Mt. Nibel– obscuring its peak for any curious onlooker who might be hoping to get a glimpse of the great gods and goddesses who lived at the very top. Strife had seen it a dozen times or more. In his youth, his greatest desire had been to live there with his kin.

Sephiroth– he never failed to impress with his thunderous yet somehow cool temper all the same. With the blue lightning bolts as great and heavy. Strife had never been able to compete with the others, least of all Sephiroth. Where Sephiroth had power, Strife had determination. Where Sephiroth sought separateness, Strife valued devotion. The only thing they really had in common was pride, and that was one thing they both possessed in abundance.

Pride and more importantly, love had been Strife's downfall.

He dreamt about what he might have done in his early youth given the wisdom of his current years. He could have lived on Mt. Nibel like the rest of them. He could have done good. He wanted to do things – create great things. He could have helped shaped mankind into something incredible. It was so depressing to watch these half-formed creatures strut about like cocks in a pen, clucking about what meaning there might be in the universe while stabbing each other in the stomach. They spilled their guts into the dirt and trampled over each other's bodies with a concern. They spoke of legacies. But they had no idea what the word meant.

He hated their failures, their misery. For a species that thought so well of themselves, their shortcomings were frequent and glaring. Sephiroth had already punished them once for being less than perfect. But Strife didn't desire them to be perfect - just _good_.

After eons Strife had grown almost complacent in the cool, dark Underworld. He was not often sought after; his responsibilities, while many, were nowhere near the same as his kin's. Strife had come to take comfort in his quiet eternity. And though he still wished to live closer to the gods and goddesses he knew that stirring the pot would only cause trouble.


	2. Chapter 2

Strife did not like the listless look in his lover's eyes.

Aerith, at times, could indeed be a contemplative soul, but this was too much.

Aerith was gentle, regal but lively and bright – always waiting with a patient, understanding hand to rest on his arm when he felt his demons rise. She was eternally his rock, his home – but now her engaging, intelligent green eyes were dull.

She was sitting on the edge of their bed with her colorful embroidery resting in her lap, a spread of delicate red pomegranates sweeping across a naked swathe of crème-colored silk.

He approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her at all. He cleared his throat and saw her head go up, strands of thick auburn brown hair that refused to be tamed sweeping across her cheeks.

"It is only me," he reassured her, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him. Aerith smiled softly, lifting her embroidery hoop off her lap and setting it to the side to receive him.

"Cloud," she said, looking up at him and folding her hands in her lap. Only she was allowed to speak this name of his, the name given to him to be a cruel reminder that he would never sit among the Clouds. She frowned taking in his appearance. "You look tired."

"I was going to say the same of you." He teased good-naturedly, getting close enough that he could reach out and set his hand on her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. "You look as though you could use some rest."

"I slept in late." She sighed, rubbing her face and grinding her fingers into the corners of her weary eyes. "I am not really tired, I suppose."

"You look tense." His hand slid up her neck and stroked her soft skin lightly. She leaned into his touch, taking comfort in his large, warm hands.

"I was thinking about…" a hot flush swept across her already rosy cheeks and they burned as she found herself unable to look up and meet his gaze. She could feel it, nonetheless.

"About…?" He prompted gently.

She chewed on the corner of her bottom lip, fingers bunching up in her skirt as she tried to keep her composure in the face of her kingly husband.

"It's just that…well, you know. _Children_." Her voice tapered off into a whisper as if simply speaking the word was forbidden. "I can't get them off my mind, Cloud. I try but...I have done everything I can to try and talk myself out of wanting them. I am trying to be practical, you know. I know it isn't possible. After all, I…with you…" her words tapered off again. She certainly did not want to hurt him by implying that he was in any way lacking ability to procreate, and she did not want to hurt him by implying that he was at all responsible for her current unhappy state.

She knew that everything he did was for her benefit. There was nothing Strife would not give her if he had the ability. If it were possible the very stars would be hers if she had only asked for them.

"You are the God of the Underworld." She spread her hands, looking up at him plaintively. "You are the Lord who reigns over Hell. It is your domain, and I am your queen. I want so badly to give you a child and I know how impossible it is for us.

I know I've been in this room for days on end. I am ready for it to come to a stop as much as you," she put her head back down, her brown locks falling forward to obscure her face. She did not want to appear so weak in front of him, she never wanted to appear weak to anyone. But in this moment, in the dark of their own bedroom where the door was shut and they were alone – she allowed herself to be completely vulnerable to her husband. He understood, and she could sense that even though he was quiet. She wondered what he was thinking – if he might be regretting every moment since their controversial wedding.

Strife did not say anything in response. He only leaned in closer, pressing his cool lips against her forehead and resting a hand on the back of her head. Her hair was soft – he liked to weave his fingers through it and get them tangled in the mass of tight curls that were at the base of her skull. She looked up at him again, regained her regal composure. Though she had not been born a goddess or even a queen in any right; just a daughter of a Cetran healer from a cold little mountain village - she could still hold herself high with the best.

It was as if she were destined to be his better half. He wouldn't trade her for any other. She had as many moods as there were seasons – but she was consistently brave, consistently kind. He adored her above all others.

And he was going to find a way to give her what she wanted. He wasn't sure how he was going to accomplish such a thing. But for his true and only love, he was willing to bend the very laws of nature, even if that meant asking unsavory things of the gods he despised. He was not going to sacrifice his pride, but he would come close. He would come so, so very close.

She needed him. She loved him. He leaned on her, always, and she never asked for anything in return. In fact, she brought this matter up so rarely that he kept forgetting about it until the subject came around again.

He was going to make her world perfect and be the king that she deserved. He vowed that much.

 _Author's Rambling: Reviews are a blessing!_


	3. Chapter 3

He was never welcome at Mt. Nibel. Just letting his foot touch the first stair of the winding golden staircase leading up the last few feet of the mountainside was enough to make his entire body shiver with gut-wrenching dread. It was not for any real reason in particular – he just did not want the cool and calculating ire of the kin he once idolized.

Sephiroth, the leader of them all, was so rooted in his old, traditional ways that it had reportedly taken the entire council of gods the equivalent of a full human lifespan to convince him to bend some of his more extreme requirements for the ever-developing human world below. Sephiroth was not the sort of divine being who liked to have his mind changed by someone else. For the greater good, he always said.

While Strife was lesser of the gods, he fully embraced change. Without it, there was no progress. Strife loved how innovative humans were. He loved how they were always tinkering away at small crafts that led to bigger projects. How they were always finding some sort of way to make their lives easier. Even if they were lacking in many areas they still had potential. Sephiroth viewed their ingenuity to ease their day to day living differently. He didn't think things should be easy. He always said that if something turned out to be easy, then it had most likely been done the wrong way.

Now he stood in the presence of the king of kings for the first time in what felt like an immeasurable infinity.

Sephiroth eyes were like sick storm clouds, a mixture of green and blue with silver threads like lightning bolts in them.

Sephiroth folded his arms, not cutting the most inviting figure. He was clearly not very pleased with his Strife's presence. Then again he was never particularly fond or trusting of the younger god.

"You don't even know why I am here." Strife felt self-conscious, he felt sick, but he was hoping it didn't sound like he was whining. Whether or not it did, that was all Sephiroth was going to see it as regardless.

He had once idolized this god, wanted nothing more than to be like him. How times had changed.

"That I don't," Sephiroth conceded, unfolded his arms and began to walk around the room.

Strife sucked in a breath, already on edge by his austere elder. "I would like to think we can put the past behind us. We don't always agree on everything…"

"We've never agreed upon anything, Strife."

"…Be that as it may, this is not about me. This is about Aerith." Strife swept a hand through his own spiky blond hair. "Not that you would have noticed or cared, but she has been very unhappy recently."

"The daughter of the healer?" Sephiroth mused with a smirk. "It is none of my business to know how she's doing, now is it? Not after you sealed her in your drab little abode," His voice was a disapproving, taunting and there was a rumble of distant thunder somewhere.

"Please, brother," Strife said sounding pathetic even to his own ears. Humility was his best route. He knew that Sephiroth would never grant his request if he was going to be a cheeky bastard about everything. "She is very unhappy." He repeated to set himself back on track. "She told me recently that she wants a child. She has mentioned it before, but I had never realized before exactly how much it was affecting her. She is suffering, and I hate to see her go through this. I want to do everything I can to make her happy. I want to see her smile again."

Strife heard his own voice waver slightly with emotion, conviction. He saw Sephiroth's lips quirk upwards and...

Sephiroth laughed, a sickly and uncaring laugh that spoke of ill things. "So that is what you've come here for?" Sephiroth asked with a quirk of a fine silver eyebrow.

"I need you to grant me the power to give that to her," Strife said, loathing the look on his kin's face. He knew that he had to sound desperate. Petulant. Like a child. He didn't care. "She is the only thing I love. The only thing I believe that I am capable of loving."

"So now you seek a child? An abomination. No. You are the ruler of the Underworld. She is a disgraced, forgotten daughter of lowly mortal planet healers. What would your child inherit, hm? A kingdom of rot? We need strong demi-gods. Not disgusting creatures conceived in darkness with the stench of death clinging to them." Smiling, "I refuse to allow it, _brother_."

 _This isn't fair._ Strife was grinding his teeth so hard that they were starting to hurt. His hands were balled up into fists at his side. The elder god observed him with unblinking, amused eyes. Strife felt hot under such an uncaring gaze. He needed to leave.

Sephiroth could say what he wanted, but that was not going to stop Strife from fulfilling his wife's desire. He had no right to insult the one person that Strife could not bring himself to live without.

Strife was not going to stand here and take this abuse any longer. With a small nod of his head, he was gone from Mt. Nibel.

There were other places to get help.

He was just going to have to dig a little deeper.


End file.
